


Gone, and So Alone

by michaely



Series: Girl's Got a Love Like Woe [1]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: (kind of) smutty, Age Difference, Canon Compliant, Chloe makes a cameo, Coming of Age, F/M, Friendship, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Older Woman/Younger Man, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, takes place around BtS, to shit on Warren (not literally you perv), we all need a daily dose of piling on Warren after all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26843413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michaely/pseuds/michaely
Summary: This is a story about Warren.Sit back down!I realize that for most of you, this prospect is about as appealing as "written and directed by David Cage," and I acknowledge there's lots about our beloved(?) meddling do-gooder to be annoyed by. I don't agree with all the complaints made against him, but I've had my fun banging on him just like the rest of you. However, if we operate under the premise that our flaws largely are borne from the damages we suffer, this is my attempt to contextualize Warren's flaws in light of the damages he's been through.It'll surely be a challenge to get you folks to grant an ounce of sympathy for this buffoon, but I don't run from a challenge. I once did a no leveling, all bosses run of Bloodborne. Let me. Have. A go.P.S. The primary relationship featured in this story doesn't even have an existing tag. I should at least earn points for novelty.
Relationships: Rachel Amber/Warren Graham, Warren Graham/Other(s), Warren Graham/Stella Hill
Series: Girl's Got a Love Like Woe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034628
Comments: 13
Kudos: 16





	1. Prologue: Angel To You, Devil To Me

**Author's Note:**

> If you're wanting some more details about the "hopelessly confusing time" that Rachel is talking about, I'd encourage you to read my other story, "Fireflies from Forever Ago." Also just like in that story, a significant modification to original LiS is that Warren is actually around the same age as everyone else. One of Dontnod's strangest decisions was to make him some kind of child genius. I honestly cannot figure out what the goal was. So no, he didn't Doogie Howser himself into Blackwell. 97.7% of you are too young to know who Doogie Howser is. Just look it up.

Apr 2009

Rachel Amber sat in bed, atop her comforter with the floral pattern. In anticipation of the Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince film being released later that year, she’s taken it upon herself to reread the entire book series before the summer. Eric Dill’s voice called out from the speakers of her stereo.

_“Ruby lips on a smile so sweet,_

_With a rude attitude that could knock me dead.”_

She had just started on Deathly Hallows when a knocking came on her door.

Her mother Rose entered the room. “Honey, someone’s here to see you. It’s that Graham boy from down the street.”

Rachel shut her book with a sigh. “Sure, just a moment.”

Walking down the stairs, she could already see Warren standing in the entryway. He was clutching a modest bouquet in one hand, his white knuckles giving away his nerves over the situation.

As she approached him, he made his best attempt at a winning grin, but the tension wracking his entire body made it look more like a grimace. She did better with her own cordial smile.

“H-hey, Rachel,” he managed to force out, “How’ve you been?”

“Doing fine,” she tried her best not to sound curt. “What have you got there?” She motioned to the flowers.

“I brought you something from the florist. Thought it might look nice in your bedroom. Or...” he stammered. “Or really anywhere in the house, wherever you’d like.” He held them up to her.

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” she tried her best to sound sincere. “But I’m allergic to lilies.”

If she was thinking his face couldn’t droop further in disappointment, she was now just proven wrong.

“Oh, I didn’t know,” he replied apologetically.

“Right. In between us taking off our clothes and us getting into bed, there wasn’t much time for icebreakers,” she tried her best to sound diplomatic.

“I wanted to tell you that I’m really sorry if you felt like I was taking advantage or anything like that.”

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to keep with the White Knight routine. I’m not some Vestal Virgin who needs you to come riding to her rescue.”

“Those two things are technically from different historical eras.”

“Warren, just stay with me here. My point is I can look out for myself. I made my own decision. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“OK. Good to hear.” He anxiously tussled his mop top. “I guess I’d just like to know where things stand, you know, between you and me.”

She had to be especially pragmatic this time. “We don’t stand anywhere. What happened, happened, and that’s fine. But right now, I’m going through...let’s just call it a hopelessly confusing time in my life. I honestly don’t see myself getting into...” She threw her hands up for lack of any better way to communicate the concept, “What you’re talking about.”

He gave a somber nod. “I see.”

“Hey,” she tried to reassure him with a squeeze on his shoulder. “You ‘punched above your weight class.’ Isn’t that the expression all the boys use?”

He wasn’t sure he had enough male friends to be familiar with that phrase.

“You’re a good guy,” she affirmed. “If you keep trying to be there for people, it’ll work out for you in the end. I’m sure of it.”

“Yeah. All right.” He looked at the bouquet still in his hands. “I guess I’ll go compost these.”

“Take care of yourself.”

He tried to put as much of his spirit as available behind his smile.

She watched as he turned away and walked back out across her front lawn. His shoulders weren’t sagging quite that much. She wasn’t sure if her words had actually accomplished the goal of bolstering his confidence or if perhaps it was his own stubborn pride holding himself together. Either way, she’d have to be content with her effort for now.

Stepping back into her home, Rachel noticed Rose working in the garden in the backyard. Rachel walked outside to join her.

“Want some help?” Rachel offered.

“Sure.” Rose handed over a pot of flowers.

Rachel started placing the lilies into the soil.

* * *

Warren returned to a home that was empty, quiet, and dark, just as he had left it. He performed a perfunctory check of the living room and kitchen and was able to confirm that he was, in fact, alone.

Approaching the refrigerator, he saw a post-it note pasted on the chrome surface. It read “Going out tonight. Be back late.”

After his dad moved out and his brother left for college, the only other person who lived in this house was his mom. And these days Warren was finding notes like this one pretty every time he returned.

He started to feel hungry but didn’t find too many provisions in the fridge. A pat of butter was melted in a skillet and a couple eggs were lightly whisked together with milk. He poured in the egg mixture and stirred over low heat until curds formed, after which he cranked the heat to high to finish cooking. Even if the dish was simple, he felt compelled to give his all to every detail. It was just how he’d been taught to handle everything. Would his effort actually be repaid, as Rachel had claimed?

Finishing his food in a few bites, he placed his lone plate and fork into the kitchen sink and climbed the stairs to his bedroom, the soles of his Berserk socks thudding emptily on the solid oak.


	2. Five Minutes to Midnight

Mar 2010

“No, you put three melee guys around him,” Stella Hill explained. “That’s what stops the Frost Bolts from chaining on the tank.”

Warren slapped himself on the forehead. “Shit, why didn’t I think of that?”

“Are you making sure to Shield Bash?”

Before Warren could answer that, he was stopped in his tracks as he caught sight of Rachel walking into the classroom.

“Something wrong?” Stella asked.

“I, uh...” he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just I thought Rachel was in the third period class.”

“You didn’t hear? Dr. Bagatov had some problems with his visa and had to move back to Kazakhstan. All the AP Chem classes are combined now.

He pursed his lips and grasped tightly at the straps of his Swiss army backpack.

“You coming?” Stella motioned to the classroom.

“You know, I think I forgot something in my locker. Save me a seat?”

“Sure.” Stella nodded back to him and walked into the room.

With a defeated sigh, he turned away and walked back down the hall, out the front entrance of Blackwell Academy.

* * *

Warren took a ride on his Dutch roadster bicycle northwest, over to Arcadia Bay’s lighthouse. A cheery pop tune which belied his dour demeanor was playing over his WeSC headphones.

_“You know you wanna just let go._

_It’s time to roll down the windows.”_

He parked his bike near the picnic table at the foot of the steps leading up the slope, making sure to chain his vehicle to a nearby wooden post.

Climbing up the steps, he saw that his usual bench was already occupied. From behind he noticed the woman’s slender frame and brown/platinum hair running down her back. She wore a cream-colored summer dress adorned with blue and yellow flowers, along with white flat-soled shoes.

He walked closer, stopping when he stood beside the bench. The woman glanced back at him with dark gray eyes. At the surface, what Warren could make out was her weariness. But something about those eyes raised his suspicion that there was a profound depth hidden behind them too. He suspected that within there was this labyrinth of desires, joys, disappointments, fears, hopes.

Before he could contemplate on that too much, the woman had already looked away from him, turning her attention instead back to the half-empty bottle of Tyrconnell. She puckered her lips to the bore of the bottle, a gesture which for some reason Warren initially found to be surprisingly sensual. She took a deep swallow, a subtle undulation moving down her throat.

Realizing that he was now verging on ogling, Warren broke his stare on her and looked to the large set of rocks next to the bench. He decided to settle down there and plopped his backpack on the ground. He sat with his back leaning against the stone and removed a notebook and pencil from his bag. He started to scribble some notes on the diagram.

Despite having some work to occupy his mind, he still was unable to divert his eyes from the woman. He caught sight of some of her tattoos: a monarch butterfly on her right arm, a colorful sleeve of flowers covered her left arm, a black sun peeked out tantalizingly from the neckline of her dress. Maybe that was why he soon thereafter snapped the tip of his pencil.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, slightly louder than intended. He could hear himself over the music of his earphones.

_“I won’t miss the way that you kiss me._

_We were never carved in stone.”_

He dug around in his bag for a while, but had no chance of locating anything in the jumbled clutter of crumpled up paper, candy bar wrappers, and trade paperbacks of Hellblazer.

It wasn’t too long until he felt a nudging on the soles of his Etnies. Looking up, he noticed that the woman was now standing before him. She was offering up a pencil of her own. Warren regarded the present with both wariness and elation. He was pretty certain that he had dropped out of this woman’s consideration after that very first glance. He felt somewhat thrilled to have earned her attention again, even if in a very miniscule way.

He slipped the headphones off his ears. “Thank you,” was his timid response as he took the pencil into his own hands.

The woman moved her head almost imperceptibly in a short nod.

He watched as she stepped away now to check her phone. Taking one last swig of her drink, she placed the phone back into her black leather clutch, picked it up off the bench, and walked down the steps and out of view.

He released a deeply pent up breath. What was it about her that had him so frozen?

* * *

By the time Warren returned to school after lunch, Stella was waiting for him by his locker.

“Took notes for you,” she explained. “They’re color-coded according to unit.”

“Oh wow. Thanks so much.” He received the photocopies of what she’d taken down in class. “Lifesaver as always.”

“I was really worried about you when you didn’t come back.”

“I just started feeling sick all of a sudden. Laid down in the nurse’s office for a bit, and I was fine.”

“All right, good. Did you wanna go over these sometime? The section on electrolysis is pretty tricky.”

“Sure, that’d be great. I’ll get you on Skype after dinner tomorrow?”

“Fine, but I still keep offering for you to come over.”

“Your dad isn’t still sore about his rhododendrons?”

“Hm, maybe bring a potted ficus as a peace offering.”

* * *

Warren waited until class let out before riding his bike back to the lighthouse the next day. The bench was empty this time. He felt disappointed by the woman’s absence, but he couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t as if they had some kind of profound interaction with each other. What exactly was he supposed to expect if she were here again? He didn’t know exactly why she had been here, but he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with him.

Oh well. Maybe this was the world’s way of telling him he would only be fumbling his way to more aches (both head and heart) if he tried anything with the opposite sex.

From his backpack, he fished out the pencil that the woman had handed to him the other day. The engraving read “Narakort” which, after some research, he learned was referring to the Narakort Motel. It wasn’t necessarily a place of high repute and was located on what could generously be described as the dodgy part of town. She didn’t seem like the kind of person who would stay there, although he admittedly didn’t have enough information to make much of a judgment on what kind of person she was.

He opened his notebook again and resumed his scribbling. He must’ve worked himself into a trance. After a while, the rest of the world seemed to drop away from his senses. The music on his headphones was playing too loud for him the hear the sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

_“The smoke alarm is going off, and there’s a cigarette_

_Still burning...”_

He jumped as he felt a tapping on his shoulder, and once again he snapped the tip of the pencil. Looking to his side, he saw the woman already sitting beside him. She grinned in bemusement. She was a bit older. She had wrinkles, which Warren knew that for women like his mother were considered the mark of death. And yet he felt as though this woman wouldn’t look quite herself without her wrinkles. This gentle smile she gave to him, she smiled with all of her face, wrinkles included. He couldn’t deny that she was beautiful, and so he knew that her wrinkles were beautiful too.

He took off his headphones in time to hear her say, “I don’t have another one, sorry.”

He smiled back, probably a bit too dopily. He was inexplicably glad to see her again. “That’s all right.” He reached back into his bag and retrieved a fresh pack of mechanical pencils. “Came better prepared this time.”

She laughed as she twisted the cap off her bottle of Grey Goose.

Her slightly more upbeat demeanor caught him a bit off-guard. Maybe it’s because he was now catching her before she’d gotten properly sloshed.

She threw back a quick sip of her drink and swallowed. After a sigh of contentment, she said to him, “You could’ve just sat next to me, you know?”

“Hm?”

“It’s not like I’ve got my name on this bench. Plenty of room. You could’ve just sat down.”

“Oh!” He chuckled, still pretty dopey. “I guess I try to be conscious about invading people’s space.”

“A gentleman, I appreciate that.”

He could feel some heat rising in his cheeks.

“I felt kinda bad,” she confessed. “I thought I was kicking you out of your usual spot.”

“Don’t worry. My name isn’t on here either,” he replied. “You recently move here?”

“I’m just visiting,” she clarified. “I’ve got some...” she ran her fingers around the rim of the bottle, “I guess you could call it ‘family’ in town.”

“I see. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks.” She digs around inside her clutch for a moment and eventually finds a pack of Lucky Strikes. “You mind if I smoke?”

“No, it’s fine.”

After placing the cigarette between her lips, she took out a box of matches and gingerly picked one up in her slim fingers. With a quick strike on the rough side, she ignited a flame at the tip and brought it to her cigarette. Once it was lit, she waved away the fire and tossed aside the spent match. She took a long drag and held it deep within her chest, then exhaled the smoke away.

The smooth and graceful motions with which she accomplished this mundane task somehow had him strangely captivated.

The buzzing of his phone shook him from his stupor. He checked his most recent message. “I have to go,” he announced. “Supposed to call a friend.”

“Mr. Popular, huh?” she teased.

“Just doing some homework together.”

She needled him some more. “Your other girlfriend doesn’t suspect anything?”

That dopey chuckle of his again.

“Good luck then,” she said with a knowing grin. “Enjoy this time. You don’t get it back.”

Warren responded with a smile of his own, this time not quite so dopey. Then he walked down the steps back to his bike.

* * *

“I really think we ought to start planning for it now,” Stella insisted as she and Warren sat down to lunch in the Blackwell cafeteria.

“It’s not until October,” Warren protested.

“Yeah, but we were scrambling so badly to put it all together last year.” She opened up her metallic tins of chana masala and basmati rice. “Starting with the song choice. Nobody our age listens to Buddy Holly. We need to update our sound. Why do you think Victoria won with ‘Poker Face’?”

“I thought you said it was because she was ‘pandering to the patriarchy.’” He took a bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“Can you get serious for once? I wanna win the next one. I’m sure Daniel does too. You brought us all together in the first place.”

“What do you suggest then?”

“Let’s get together and exchange ideas about what sound we like best, and hopefully with some shared passion, we’ll play like an actual band.”

“All right but you’re gonna have to coordinate schedules.”

“I expected as much. I talked it over with Daniel already. We’re going to Bean Hip at 7:00 tomorrow.”

“Fine then. You gonna eat your pakora?”

“No, go ahead.” She handed over her food. 

“And can we please change the name?”

“What, you don't like ‘The Warren Graham Experience’?”

Stella snatched away the pakora.

“Fine, I’ll think about it!” Warren whined.

She gave the food back to him. “My mom got that new deep fryer. You’d like these when they’re made fresh. You wanna come over for dinner this weekend?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied noncommittally.

“Don’t forget that ficus.”

* * *

The next time Warren went to the lighthouse, the woman wasn’t sitting on the bench. She had her tiptoes nudged to the very edge of the cliff which plunged down toward the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean. She was entirely still, save for the occasional swishes of her hair in the mild breeze.

Standing beside the bench, he found himself being lulled to serenity by the sight of her figure enveloped in the warm glow of the afternoon sun.

She lifted one foot off the ground and let it hang over the cliff. The hairs on the back of his neck began to stand. She started teetering ever so slightly. His sneakers scurried across the grass. He reached out and grasped her around the waist with both hands. He pulled her back to solid ground, back to him. The motion was frenzied and chaotic, but the contact between her body and his felt oddly comforting to him. Their collective momentum sent them careening down to earth.

The wind was forced out of his lungs as she landed atop him and his back took the brunt of the impact with the ground. But even as he lay gasping for air, he realized his arms remained wrapped tight around the woman’s torso. Luckily she seemed to still be getting over her own state of shock. He unclasped his grip and tried his best to ease her gently to the grass beside him. He turned to his side with a groan, clutching at his ribs. She pushed herself up with both arms. Still panting, she swiped her hair away from her face, revealing those same intense, dark eyes. Her gaze forced his breath to catch in his throat.


	3. "Jenny"

Kyle Patrick’s moody vocals crooned from the speakers at Bean Hip Café.

_“You keep me hanging on,_

_And we’re not moving on,_

_Or standing still.”_

Warren’s fingers tapped nervously on the rim of his coffee cup as he watched the woman from the other side of the booth. She took a sip of her cappuccino. Another Lucky Strike was wedged in between the index and middle fingers of her other hand.

“Here are your scones.” The waitress set two plates, each one bearing a baked treat, on the table. “Ma’am, there’s no smoking here.”

“Oh,” the woman regarded her cigarette with mock surprise. “I’ll appreciate it if you can give consideration to my unique medical condition. See, I’m allergic to nagging, and I find that the smoke keeps it away.” The woman took another hearty drag and blew a thick billow toward the waitress.

The young girl, now thoroughly flustered, was left without much choice other than to just march away, possibly to complain to her manager.

The woman smiled in self-satisfaction.

Warren admittedly felt a pang of sympathy for the waitress. She was just trying to do her job after all. But he found himself laughing along with the woman anyway.

“You’re gonna like these.” He gestured to the food. “The cranberries are from a local farm.”

The woman picked up her scone in her delicate fingers and brought it to her mouth, clamped down with her pearly white teeth.

Wait, Warren wondered to himself, am I getting jealous of a scone?

She chewed a few times, then raised her eyebrows in delight. Washing down her food with another sip of coffee, she then wiped some crumbs away from her lips with the nearby napkin. “That is very tasty,” she remarked with a giggle.

He smiled back at her with all 32 of his teeth. “I figure what happened at the lighthouse could’ve just been a simple blood sugar issue. I only ever see you drinking alcohol, so I thought you’d appreciate some real food.”

“I will say it feels nice for a guy to take me out without any ulterior motives.”

He nodded reassuringly.

“My daughter would like these,” she added. “At least that’s what her dad tells me.”

He pondered for a moment if he should touch the subject. “You haven’t seen her in a while?” Hey, you practically save someone’s life, you feel entitled to a few more foolish risks, right?

She shook her head. “Not for a long time. Way too long.” She placed the smoldering stub of the cigarette into her napkin and cupped the bundle in her hand. She then spit into the napkin, using her saliva to extinguish the flame. She often smoked without an ashtray on hand, and this was the way she opted to safely put out her cigarettes. He could appreciate the ingenuity.

“Is she the ‘family’ that you have in town?”

She gave a nod.

“You’re staying at the Narakort in the meantime?”

“Biding my time, I guess.”

“Until when?”

“Until I work up some courage.” The woman sighed hugely. “I wasn’t ready for motherhood when she was born.”

He was quite surprised at her candor. They were still virtually strangers, but maybe it was the very fact they didn’t know much about each other that made her feel more free with him.

“I acted in ways that hurt everyone.” She averted her gaze in shame and instead looked out the window. “Her father was right to take her away.”

“I’m sure it’s been long enough for old wounds to heal. Whatever mistakes you’ve made, you can show her you’ve moved on from your past.”

“Thank you.” Her response carried an air of gratitude, but she didn’t have enough confidence in that prospect to offer a full smile. “But it’s possible she’s moved on too.”

“I think she can understand. At least you’re willing to try.” Now he felt emboldened to be especially frank himself. “My mom’s not even around much these days. Always out on dates or partying with friends.”

“And how does your dad feel about that?”

“They’re separated. He’s a physics professor at Oregon State. He started seeing one of his lab interns last year.”

“Ah.” The woman rolled her eyes. “Man leaves for someone shinier and newer and prettier. I don’t care what Howard Ashman says, THAT’S the tale as old as time.”

“I dunno, isn’t it possible for two people to just be together and not irrevocably fuck each other up?”

“Your naivete is positively adorable,” she teased. At least she could manage a grin now.

He chuckled too.

“I think your mother is just trying to deal with her sense of rejection,” she offered further. “Not that it excuses her behavior, but hopefully you can understand that it doesn’t mean she doesn’t care for you.”

He pursed his lips. He hadn’t ever considered that possible perspective. It doesn’t dull the pain of abandonment, but it offered some solace that his pain might not be all his own fault.

“Warren?” a female voice called out from behind him.

He turned to find Stella and Daniel walking toward his booth.

“Hey,” Warren replied, slightly stunned. “I thought we weren’t meeting until a little later?”

“Daniel reminded me there’s happy hour today,” Stella explained.

“BOGO iced lattes,” Daniel added.

“Who’s your friend?” Stella inquired, not intending to be nosy, just trying to show manners by acknowledging everyone.

“She...” Warren looked back at the woman. It was then when he realized that he had only ever known her as “the woman.” He hadn’t learned her name.

“I’m Jenny,” the woman announced. “Yes, my parents were huge Forrest Gump fans. I’m a friend of Warren’s mother. She had to work late tonight, and he was kind enough to humor an old lady.”

“Very nice to meet you,” Stella replied. With the pleasantries having been disposed of, the crowd now finds itself without much left to say.

“Well,” Stella finally addressed Warren again. “Why don’t you come get us at 7 like we planned?”

“You know what?” the woman countered, “I’ve already taken up enough of Mr. Graham’s time. I’ll just get this to go.” She picked up the plate with her scone and scooted out of her seat.

“You sure?” Warren wasn’t quite so effective at hiding his disappointment.

“You’ve done more than enough for today,” the woman gently assured him. She then turned to Daniel and Stella. “Have yourselves a great night.”

Warren’s eyes remained fixed on her as she walked up to the counter and asked for her scone to be placed in a small paper bag. She didn’t look back at him as she walked out the front door. She retrieved her phone from her black leather clutch and continued down the sidewalk. She never looked back at him.

“Should we get started?” Stella asked him.

“Sure...” Warren replied blankly.

Stella and Daniel took their seats in the booth.

“By the way,” Stella went on, “My mom wants to know if you’re OK with jasmine rice or if you’re one of those health nuts who only takes quinoa or some shit.”

“Anything’s fine,” Warren said, his attention having also went out the front door and down the sidewalk.

* * *

When Warren next returned to the lighthouse, the woman was thankfully seated safely on the bench. Feeling properly brave, he simply sat down next to her.

“Hi.” He waved meekly to her.

“Hey.” She greeted him with familiar warmth.

He noticed the six pack of Coors Banquets beside her. “You expecting company?”

“Oh, this? I realized I never paid you back at the café. Care to join me for a drink?”

He couldn’t remember the last time he was asked to socialize over alcohol. When he was very little and would get a beer for his dad after he got home from work, he’d be allowed a sip or two. Warren wasn’t in the circle who got invited to the famed Vortex Club parties.

“Yeah, why not?” He tried to sound as casual as possible. It seemed to work. Mostly.

The woman slipped out a couple bottles from the cardboard container. She popped off the caps with her bottle opener keychain and handed one to Warren. “Cheers.”

He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip. As expected, it mostly tasted of fizzy water with lots of gas. He personally never understood the appeal. Now the mead that his brother let him try while they were at the Renaissance Fair a few years ago...

“What are you always working on anyway?” The woman pointed to the notebook Warren was clutching in his free hand. “You drawing tentacle porn or something?”

“Oh, no that’s not it!”

“I’m not judging. ‘Whatever turns you on,’ I always say,” was her sly response.

Warren laughed as he leafed through a few pages, then held it up for her to see. “My dad sent me the specs for a project that he’s having his students work on. The goal is to design an apparatus that can managed sustained flight using only hot air for propulsion.”

“College stuff. Very impressive.”

“Yeah, but now I’m feeling like it’s out of my league. I can’t figure out what to use as a fuel source because it needs to provide persistent heat over a long period of time. And anything I can think of is always gonna be too heavy to get lifted in the air. Also, for temperatures that high, any adhesive I’d have to use to hold everything together would probably melt. So that’s what I’ve been stuck on.”

The woman took another sip of her beer. She glanced down the cliffside, at the shores far below the lighthouse. A boy was flying a kite on the beach. She looked back at Warren.

He regarded her quizzically. “What is it?”

* * *

Riding together on Warren’s bicycle, they made the trip to a nearby crafts store. They picked up some kite paper and copper wire. Stopping by Arcadia Gas, they purchased a small candle and a souvenir T-shirt bearing the “Another Great Day in Arcadia Bay” slogan. Then they trekked over to the motel, where they borrowed a sewing machine from the front desk attendant.

Taking everything to the break room behind the lobby, Warren started to gently melt the candle in the low heat of the microwave. The woman sewed four sheets of paper together so they formed a rectangular prism shape, then capped it with another sheet of paper at the top to close the opening. He arranged the wire into a frame that would provide structural support for his apparatus. She cut up the shirt into small strips of fabric, which she then tied into tiny knots around the base of the wire frame. He took the melted wax from the candle and dripped it on top of the knots of fabric. After making sure the fabric was properly doused, they waited for the wax to dry again.

Finally, the team journeyed back to the lighthouse. They were both practically giddy with excitement as they climbed the stairs leading up to the cliff. The woman used one of her matches to light the wax at the bottom of the device. A strong, persistent flame sprang up. After steeling his will with a deep breath, he released the sky lantern from his grip. To his delight, he watched as it began to rise effortlessly into the air.

She gave a spirited cheer. He was quite honestly taken aback by her childlike glee. But damn, was she beautiful when she smiled like that. For this brief, isolated moment, she smiled with no trace of regret or worry. Damn, was she beautiful.

The lantern continued to rise further and further, showing no signs of slowing down. All the way up into the night sky until the light of the flame was swallowed in darkness.

* * *

Stella looked down at her phone. She had lost track of how many times she's had to check.

**iMessage**

**Today** 3:55 PM

**Stella Hill**

Looking forward to tonite

Don’t worry about dad, I will make sure he plays nice :)

**Today** 4:11 PM

**Stella Hill**

Did you remember the ficus?

**Today** 5:47 PM

**Stella Hill**

Are you on your way?

If the tires to your bike are dirty, don’t come dragging it into the entryway >_<

**Today** 6:11 PM

**Stella Hill**

Where r u?

**Today** 6:45 PM

**Stella Hill**

Warren?

“Stella, honey?” Mrs. Hill walked toward her daughter, who had been staring out the front window for the past half hour. “Why don’t we just get started?”

Stella sniffled as she hastily wiped away the dampness on her cheek. “You go ahead. I’m not hungry.” She waited until she rushed up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door behind her before she let all her tears fall.


	4. The Remedy

Warren didn’t get to ride that high for very long. As soon as he bothered to glance back at his phone, he immediately noticed the wall of texts from Stella.

It was probably gonna take way more than a ficus to make up for this one.

School was understandably awkward for the next several days. She walked past him in the hallways, sat on the other side of the cafeteria at lunch, and deliberately placed her bag on the chair next to her in chemistry lab.

Poor Daniel was actually the one left most flummoxed. The staunch introvert who longed for harmony and tranquility above all else was ill-equipped to deal with feuding best friends. He barely had the stomach for the sociopolitical machinations of pickup basketball during gym class.

* * *

Warren was stuffing his biology textbook back into his locker when Stella finally approached him again.

“Hello, Warren.” She was carrying a manila folder in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other.

“Stella, hey.” His pained grin immediately gave away his crippling anxiety over having to face up to the snafu he committed against his close friend and her family. “I know I need to be saying this in about a billion other ways too, but I’m really sorry about dinner last weekend. Let me know what your folks want in order for me to make it up to them. Your dad needs a new bed of orchids or something?”

The girl sighed hugely, disappointed by her friend’s lack of consideration but also disappointed in herself for having expected more from him. “It’s OK,” she replied. “I’m sure you had your reasons.” She seemed noncommittal to how OK it was and to how valid his reasons must’ve been. “We had a bunch of leftovers.” She held out the paper bag to him. “Feel free.”

Warren reached out a wary hand and accepted the offering.

“I actually wanted to talk about something much more important,” Her demeanor turned instantly grave. “You remember my dad did some system updates for the police department last year? I had him call in some favors, and they pulled the file on that lady friend of yours.”

“You what?” His posture had turned defensive without his even realizing.

“You need to be way more careful. Her name isn’t even Jenny.” She opens the folder to reveal a series of mugshots. Surely enough they were of his “lady friend” (he didn’t much care for the tone with which Stella had said that). Each image was tagged with the caption “Gearhardt, Sera.”

Warren could only look down blankly.

Stella went on, “She’s been picked up on drug charges all across the west coast. Not just in Oregon but California and Washington too.”

He still couldn’t summon any comment.

“What’s more,” she continued, “Officers have seen her around town with Damon Merrick. You heard of him? The guy who runs drugs out of the junkyard?”

“I...” he shook his head in defiance and quickly shut the folder, thrusting it back to her. “I’m sure there’s an explanation. It’s not like she’s dangerous.”

“How can you be so sure?” she implored. “How much do you really know about her?”

He couldn’t help his face tightening into a scowl. “Look, I know you’re sore about getting stood up and everything, but that doesn’t mean you have to be so paranoid. You’re acting like some jealous stalker.”

Her eyes went wide. “Excuse me?’

“You don’t know her like I do,” he protested.

“I am just trying to help,” she pleaded.

“I don’t need your help, Stella! I don’t need YOU!”

She jumped back, aghast at the grotesque transformation she had just witnessed her friend undergo in the mere blink of an eye.

But once she could brush off the initial shock, the rage came flooding into her. She reached back and whacked him across the cheek with her open palm.

A chorus of gasps rose up from the crowd of students who had been spectating the ordeal.

She glowered at him with dark eyes that seethed with resentment. She breathed heavily for a few moments, hands balling up into fists, then swiftly turned away from him and stomped back down the hall.

After the stinging in his cheek subsided, he stormed off in the other direction, toward his bike.

* * *

As he rode up to the confines of American Rust, Warren momentarily stopped to see a tall girl with short brown hair and dressed in a Hawt Dawg Man T-shirt and tattered black jeans. He recognized her as Chloe Price. She was technically a classmate of his, although her infrequent (at best) attendance at Blackwell hardly classified her as a fellow student. Chloe was talking to a man with a light brown goatee and a tattoo of playing cards on the left side of his neck. He and Chloe exchanged a few more words, then he entered the white RV that was parked behind him, shutting the door right after.

Warren walked his bike closer. Chloe initially looked him over with a raised eyebrow, but she soon decided he wasn’t the type to be of immediate harm and quickly diverted her attention elsewhere. Warren, meanwhile, found that he couldn’t figure out what else to do (what was his plan in coming here exactly?) and just continued to stare at her.

“You lose something over here, Graham?” Chloe snapped at him.

“N-no, sorry,” he stammered. He shot his glance in every other possible direction, as if there were some powerful magnet pushing his eyeballs away from the girl before him.

“Fucking weirdo,” Chloe mumbled.

The RV door opened again, and the man stepped down back to the ground, handing to Chloe a Ziploc stuffed with marijuana buds.

“Thanks again, Frank,” Chloe said. “I’ll be sure to settle up next time, alright?”

“Just get outta here before my generous streak ends,” Frank admonished.

Chloe nodded and turned to exit the yard.

Frank shifted his attention to Warren. “What you want?”

Warren swallowed hard. “Damon Merrick?” He forced the words from his parched throat.

Frank placed his joint between his lips and took a long drag, all the while surveying Warren with a skeptical eye. He exhaled a plume of smoke and hollered back into the RV. “Yo, Damon! Visitor!”

“Who is it?” Damon growled.

“Am I your receptionist?” Frank shot back. “Some kid selling Tiger Beat subscriptions, I dunno! Get your ass out here and ask him yourself!”

Grumbling could be heard from within the RV. The stomping of steel-toed boots against the metal floor resounded. Damon stepped out, an imposing man with severe brown eyes and slicked back dark hair. A scar stretched across the bridge of his nose. Tribal tattoos ran up from under the collar of his button-down shirt to his neck and down from the sleeves around his forearms. Damon stepped up to Warren, who was already a good deal shorter but Damon’s air of overall menace made him seem all that more imposing.

“Here I am,” Damon announced. “Let me just say in case your mama sent you, I didn’t consent to no paternity test.” Damon cackled to himself, very proud of his supposed “humor.”

Frank merely rolled his eyes while taking another puff.

Warren cleared his throat, forced air into his lungs in preparation for speaking. “I’m here about Sera Gearhardt.”

“Who?” Damon asked.

“You know, that lady with the...” Frank gestured to his arm. Warren figured this was in reference to Sera’s tattoo sleeve. “From California?”

“Ah, yeah OK,” Damon nodded. “What’s the matter with her now? Don’t tell me she’s started cradle robbing.” Damon mischievously slapped Warren on the shoulder, then gave that smug laugh of his again. “But allow me to give you a warning, and I’ll try to make this as PG-13 as possible: That well has been tapped so many times, you’ll probably fall in and not be able to get out.” Damon threw his head back and grabbed his belly as he howled with laughter.

Warren tried shoring up his posture and planted his feet to the ground as firmly as possible. “Stay away from her.”

Damon abruptly ended his spell of joviality. His expression turned deathly serious. “Run that by me again?”

“Stay away,” Warren insisted again. “She deserves better than your type.”

“My ‘type’?” Damon scoffed. “Boy, she and I are cut from the same miserable, dirty cloth. She’s the same ‘type’ as me.” He brought his face close to Warren, who could see the nicotine stains on Damon’s teeth, smell the brown liquor on his breath. “Maybe it’s your ‘type’ that doesn’t belong.”

Warren pounced on this opportunity and swung a sturdy fist into Damon’s jaw.

Damon stumbled briefly. When he once again got his feet fully established underneath him, he started again with his arrogant chuckle. “Not bad.” He spat out some specks of blood. “Allow me to retort.”

Damon reached out and grabbed two handfuls of Warren’s shirt. Damon reared back and with deadly precision, rammed his forehead into the bridge of Warren’s nose. The discrepancy in actual fight experience became crystal clear in this moment. A sickening crunch rang out, the noise bouncing around inside Warren’s own skull. He felt his sinuses welling up with wetness, and his limp body collapsed to the dirt with a thud.

Before he could suck in a breath, Damon planted his knee across Warren’s neck. Warren could hear a sharp swish as Damon extended his switchblade.

“I dunno who was supposed to teach you respect for your elders,” Damon said while pressing the cold steel against Warren’s cheek. “But you don’t wanna be learning that lesson from me.” He dug in with the sharp edge. Warren winced as his flesh was about to break.

“Damon, that’s enough!” Frank called out. “He’s just a boy!”

Damon continued to fix his deranged stare at Warren. Then came the rumble of an incoming train cruising along the tracks.

Damon got to his feet, Warren sputtering for air in the meantime. Damon grabbed hold of the frame to Warren’s bicycle, dragging it along toward the tracks. With a grunt, Damon tossed the bike into the path of the train, which predictably crushed the pathetic vehicle. Steel, rubber, and cushioning were crunched under the train’s wheels, and the shattered bits were sent flying in all directions.

Damon marched back to where Warren still lay. Warren groaned weakly as blood leaked from his nose.

“I see your face around here again,” Damon didn’t bother looking down at Warren, “I’ll be mailing you back to Sera. In pieces.” He addressed Frank now, “Get me outta here.”

Frank shook his head as he threw down his joint and crushed it under the sole of his boot. He climbed back into the RV, followed soon by Damon. The engine turned over, and the machinery whirred as Frank and Damon pulled away.

Warren could only lay there, the midday sun glaring down at him, and he waited until the noise of the RV dissipated completely in the distance.

* * *

Warren managed to dial an ambulance, told them he fell off his bike. The doctor could manually realign Warren’s nose and afterward placed a splint on top.

The nurse called Warren’s mom to pick him up. It was the first time he had even seen her in who knows how long. She was dressed for a date, in her black cocktail dress with the halter neckline. She smelled of hairspray.

The ride back home was silent, save for the musical stylings of Jason Mraz on the radio:

_“I says, something on the surface, well, it kinda makes me nervous._

_Who says that you deserve this?_

_And what kind of god would serve this?”_

* * *

Warren stepped through the front door first, then his mother.

He placed his backpack on the dining table and leaned against the walnut surface. “Sorry you had to cancel your date.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she gently responded. “I don’t think the guy was a keeper anyway. He ended all his messages saying ‘YOLO.’ Whatever the hell that means.”

He laughed softly to himself.

“I feel bad about your bike,” she lamented. “Want me to talk to your dad about replacing it for you?”

“No, it’s fine. Maybe it’s a sign I should start driver’s ed.”

“Not a bad idea.” She checked the refrigerator. “Doesn’t look like there’s much for dinner. You want me to call in for Chinese?”

“Sure.”

“You still like your kung pao beef? Extra chilis?”

“Sounds great.” It was strangely meaningful to him that she remembered.

“By the way,” she said while glancing over the menu on her phone, “Your brother’s visiting this weekend. Did he mention that to you?”

“No, I guess I haven’t been the best about keeping up with him.”

“I was thinking us three could go to the drive-in in Newberg.”

He couldn’t help but smile at the prospect of seeing his brother again. “Yeah, should be fun.”

“They’re playing something called ‘The Darjeeling Limited.’”

“Oh, you’re gonna like that one. You did your study abroad at MBM in Jodhpur, right? They filmed most of the movie in that city.”

“Seriously? I’ll let you know if I recognize any places.”

“Jimmy doesn’t like other people talking during movies, though.”

“Nah, he’ll get over it,” she said with a giggle.

Small talk, making plans with family. Not a bad balm for a broken nose.


	5. Don't Dream It's Over

The door to the music room was open, so Warren could hear the synchronized strumming of dual guitars ringing through the Blackwell hallway. Two guitars? Daniel hadn’t mentioned anything about someone else joining. When he heard the vocals, Warren stopped in his tracks.

_“Hey now, hey now,_

_Don’t dream it’s over.”_

He’d recognize Stella’s voice anywhere.

_“Hey now, hey now,_

_When the world comes in.”_

Warren gripped the strap of his own Fender, which had been slung across his back. He figured now was as good a time as any to just “face the music,” so to speak.

_“They come, they come_

_To build a wall between us.”_

He took the last few pensive steps past the threshold of the classroom. Surely enough, he saw Stella seated there with her Yamaha, demonstrating the correct chord progression while Daniel followed along on his Washburn.

_“We know they won’t win.”_

Stella picked the last few notes to the outro. When she noticed Warren, she gasped. Warren waved impishly to her.

“Oh good,” Daniel broke up the oppressive silence, “You’re both here. Why don’t I go pick us up some Mountain Dews?”

Daniel set down his guitar and got up from his seat, casually striding out of the room. Warren and Stella both found they weren’t quite ready yet to meet each other’s glances.

“Daniel asked me to teach him that song,” Stella eventually explained. “Said he wanted to play it for Brooke.”

“Funny,” Warren added, “He told me he wanted to learn ‘Wonderwall.’”

“Did he just...”

“Yeah, he pulled a Parent Trap.”

“He’s way smarter than he looks.”

“It’s the quiet ones you’ve gotta worry about.” He found the courage to walk closer, taking a seat beside her. “You like the new look I’m trying out?” He gestured to his two black eyes and still slightly swollen nose.

“You should wear it like that all the time,” was her sardonic reply.

“Nah, I have to wake up way too early to get ready.”

She laughed, feeling slightly more at ease now. “Dare I even ask what happened?”

“You don’t wanna know. Or maybe you do so you can gloat about being right?”

The girl sighed hugely. “You and her. What are you guys to each other anyway? You two are ‘going steady’ or something?”

“I have no idea what we’re doing.” He hung his head in defeat. “All I know is when I’m with her...” He laughed to himself, wondering if his thoughts are going to sound as silly if he actually says them aloud, “It’s like I start to feel sure that life can be so much more. She lets me hope for something better.”

She gave a few brief nods. He couldn’t make out her true feeling just yet.

He went on, “I guess I didn’t want to let go of that feeling. I didn’t want to lose that hope. That’s why I...” He let the shame of all his past transgressions against his best friend wash over him, “You know...”

“Acted like a prick?”

“Yeah, exactly.” He finally brought his eyes to hers. “I’m sorry.”

She adjusted her lime green hair clip. “I’m sorry too. For slapping you.”

“You really were just trying to help. I shouldn’t have disregarded your effort.”

“It’s more than that.” She got to her feet and began pacing uneasily. “You remember when we first met?”

“Um...” He was a little thrown off by this apparent non sequitur. “Sure. It was fifth grade Math League.”

“District finals. And you asked me if I had a spare protractor.”

“Yeah, mine must’ve slipped out of my backpack or something.”

“But who the fuck doesn’t make sure about their protractor before the DISTRICT FINALS?”

“I guess I’ve always lacked a certain attention to detail,” he admitted.

“Not just that. You’re clingy, your over-eagerness is a huge turn-off, and you try way too hard to get everyone to like you.”

“I’m hoping there’s a ‘but’ coming soon.”

Stella giggled. “But...” She sat down next to him and looked him square in the eyes, “You legitimately care. You put yourself out there for other people. You want to help, so badly. Too badly most of the time.”

“Thanks?”

“And at the end of the day,” Stella took his hand into hers, “I’d rather have someone like you, than just another edge lord douchebag who’s busy pretending he’s too cool to give a fuck about anyone else.”

Warren smiled back at her. Above all else, he was grateful for her frankness regarding both his merits and deficiencies.

“I guess you could say I was a little jealous,” she confessed at last.

He titled his head. “You...”

Stella shrugged her shoulders, slightly apologetically.

He looked around, as if searching for a hidden camera crew to confirm the joke. “But you never said anything.”

“Because I knew you’d just look back at me with that hopeless, dopey face of yours.”

He stared blankly at her.

“That one!” She pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“I’m sorry! That’s just how my face is!” He threw his hands up in the customary “don’t shoot me” gesture.

“And I’m never sure,” she continued, “If I want to kiss that face...” Her hands tightened into fists. “Or just pound it into the dirt.”

His eyes went wide. “Well,” he posited while scratching the back of his head, “Until you figure out which one you want, can we just go back to being friends?”

“That’s probably the safest for everyone involved.”

“I know I need to appreciate you more,” he concluded. “You bring a lot of good things to my life. I’m gonna stop taking that for granted, I promise.”

She could muster a warm smirk for him now. “I’d like that.”

“Ah, how nice,” Daniel remarked from just outside the door. He came bearing three cans of Mountain Dew. “Things are as they should be, once again.”

“Yes, good job, Daniel,” Warren praised him.

“You’re a great friend,” Stella further fed Daniel’s self-satisfied grin.

“So, you and Brooke, huh?” Warren inquired.

“I do admit I find her quite fetching.” Daniel handed over the drinks to his bandmates. “But she’s actually more into classic rock. So I’m working on an acoustic composition of ‘You Shook Me All Night Long.’”

Warren and Stella exchanged quizzical glances.

“Well...” Stella spoke up, “Why don’t you show us?”

“Hell yeah!” Warren exclaimed. “The Warren Graham Experience is back in action!”

Stella groaned and rolled her eyes.

* * *

Finding himself with a strange new sense of contentment, Warren didn’t return to the lighthouse for a little while. But during this random, overcast April afternoon, he took a taxi to find Sera there once again. He took a few timid steps toward her. She turned to him at the sound of his approaching footsteps.

“Holy shit,” she cast an aghast eye over him. His battle scars hadn’t yet quite healed completely. “What happened to you?”

“I, uh,” he anxiously tussled his mop top, “Fell off my bike.”

“Oh, you did?”

“Just tumbled right off.”

“And what broke your fall? Damon Merrick’s fist?”

He grimaced. He was busted. “He headbutted me, actually.”

“The fuck were you thinking?” She shook her head in frustration.

“I just went there to talk.”

“Right, people get him confused with Nelson Mandela all the time.” She scoffed. “You’re lucky you still look like shit. Otherwise I wouldn’t feel sorry for you, and I’d be the one beating the tar out of you for acting like a fool.”

“What did you want me to do?” He raised his voice to her for the first time. “People see you around him, they start talking. Saying you’re a bad person.”

“I AM!” She looked back at him with a deathly serious expression. “When did I ever say I was some saint who needs your sympathy? I never asked to be put on your goddamn pedestal!”

“Why do you want me to feel guilty for caring about you?”

“Because I’m not worth it!” A clap of thunder sounded in the distance. A chilly breeze came barreling in. “Everyone, EVERY single person who’s ever counted on me, who’s ever tried to accept me and let me into their world...” She choked on the sobs that she could no longer stifle. She needed a few moments to tamp down her grief again, to hastily wipe away the dampness from her cheeks. “Everyone is worse off for having known me.”

The wind gusted up even stronger. He noticed the goosebumps creeping across her skin.

“Just look at yourself,” she implored. “What more proof do you need?”

She couldn’t contain her tears anymore, and they came in torrents down her face. As if mimicking her deluge of tears, the sky seemingly all at once released an unrelenting barrage of rain. They both were drenched in what felt like an instant.

“Come on,” she called out above the din of the weather, “I have my car. I’ll take you home.”

She rushed down the steps, Warren following close behind while stretching his black zip-up Ramones hoodie above his head in a futile attempt to shield himself from the rain.

* * *

He looked over at her several times, mostly while giving her directions to his house. He saw that she would occasionally shiver as the heater of her blue Corvette struggled to keep pace with the creeping cold. He saw that she sometimes had to use the back of her hand to brush away some lingering tears. He saw that she gripped the wheel tighter on left turns than ones to the right.

She never spared him a single glance.

Pulling up to the curb near his house, she wordlessly unlocked the doors. She still didn’t look back at him, just waited for him to exit. The raindrops continued their assault on anything unfortunate enough to be caught below.

Among this noise, he spoke up. “You’re soaked.”

Suddenly realizing how transparent her dress has become, she instinctively folded her arms in front of her chest.

“I just mean,” he was quick to clarify, “You should dry your clothes. I’ve got towels, extra shirts and stuff.”

She finally shifted her gaze back to him.

He looked to her expectantly. “Do you want to come in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's a bit shorter than usual. I've got a big decision to make about how I want to approach the conclusion. I'm still iffy on whether to take that big a risk, so hopefully y'all can bear with me while I see how much artistic hutzpah I can summon up.


	6. Feel Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Feel Good" (acoustic) - Gryffin, Illenium ft. Daya https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LrLUuiFxYL4

Warren awoke in bed, his head feeling leaden, like it weighed about a ton. The throbbing in his temples suggested about a dozen goblins tapdancing inside his skull. He rolled his tongue around in his parched mouth. Even when he managed to push up from the mattress and sit upright again, his center of gravity was horribly thrown off, and he had to catch himself against his nightstand. Noticing the half empty glass of wine sitting there, he began to understand how he ended up here. He had always been a lightweight.

Surveying the confines of his bedroom a bit more, he didn't find Sera around, but he noticed the dulcet notes of the Yamaha baby grand piano ringing out downstairs. He pushed open the door to his room and descended the oak staircase. Peering into the study, he saw Sera, in profile, seated in front of the instrument.

The piano was only there because Warren's father had insisted on buying it. Warren never understood why. Nobody in the family was especially proficient at piano. He took some lessons as a much younger kid but eventually gravitated toward guitar after Daniel claimed that girls were more into guitarists. Now, however, Warren decided on the purpose of this piano. It was for Sera, and that was enough.

Her slender fingers danced elegantly across the Ivorite keys. She sang out with astounding clarity.

_"Sometimes I need someone to pick me up,_

_Overdose my mind with the things I love."_

Once more, he found her so beautiful when she was allowed to live solely in this one moment before her. Her old clothes still tumbling about in the dryer, she was now dressed in one of his Neon Trees T-shirts (a bit baggy on her) and some undersized gym shorts that he hadn't worn since junior high phys ed class. 

_"You can take me there,_

_Where my heart beats, where my heart beats free."_

He hesitated to walk into the room, wondering if the scene would fall apart if he interfered with it any further. Perhaps he'd break through the barrier of this illusion and reveal the dull, dreary reality of the same empty space he'd been encountering for so long before her.

_"Take my hand in the middle of a crisis."_

She looked aside to catch sight of him. He offered a simple meek grin of admiration. She smiled back, truly grateful for being admired.

_"Pull me close, show me, baby, where the light is."_

As if that had been sufficient provocation, he entered the room with a series of pensive steps. His breath released slowly from his throat.

_"I was scared of a heart I couldn't silence,"_

He didn't feel the need to ask her permission to sit on the bench next to her, and so he did.

_"But you make me, you make me feel good."_

He was struck at the immense impact of these few little words. How many seconds had ticked by for him wondering how to make sense of what he felt when she was around? How much strain had his mind endured as he tried to explain to both himself and others why she meant so much to him? And yet, for her, she encapsulated it all, everything in these few little words.

_"I like it."_

She concluded with this last confession, locking her unblinking eyes with his.

She gave a gentle giggle and reached for her glass of wine sitting atop the lid of the piano. She took a sip, licking her lips afterward. "Sleepyhead finally woke up, huh?"

Warren chuckled in response. "I felt my ears burning."

"Oh, you thought I was playing that for you?" she teased.

"Who else?" he playfully asked.

"Your mom," she replied, matter-of-factly. "She has just about the world's largest stash of cheap rosé." She held up her glass again.

He laughed out loud this time.

"Seriously, she still hasn't found a boyfriend, right? Any signs she'd try out women?"

He shook his head in bemusement. "You're crazy." 

"Newsflash: I'm a little crazy."

As their laughter died down, he found himself bereft of anything to say. Or rather, everything he wanted to say, he had to wonder if it would be worth it to just bare it all so openly.

"You're amazing." He decided to just go with it, his words leaping forward before his mind could catch up. "Wonderful. Beautiful." The boy sighed hugely, certain that she could bolt away at any moment. "When I'm not with you, I keep wondering how far I need to reach to get back to you. When you're with me, I keep wishing I had all the time in the world."

Her expression turned deathly serious. Still it was difficult to read the entirety of her intentions. She ran her fingers through her long, silky hair. "Do you want to kiss me?"

He was taken aback by the suddenness. He didn't know where that entreaty had come from, but his answer to it wasn't at all in doubt. "Always."

She gave a resolute nod and scooted along the bench, pressing her body to his as close as can be. She lunged forth, planting her lips against his waiting mouth. She drew a long, steady breath as she savored the sensation. She reached up with both hands and let her fingers get tangled in his unruly locks. Noticing his hands were idle, she took him by the wrist and guided him to her breast. He didn't need further encouragement to grasp at her gently. A slight whimper escaped from within her. As she broke their kiss, he remained stunned for a few more brief moments, needing a handful of further beats before he would open his eyes again.

"Now what?" she posited.

He looked back at her in puzzlement. "Huh?"

"What happens next?" she pressed. "We fuck each other's brains out?"

To him, that definitely sounded nice.

"Get a house with the red door, put a white fence around it?"

He supposed he wouldn't have any objections to that.

"Run out of things to talk about after the first year? Have our relationship devolve into petty squabbles about the division of household labor?"

That didn't sound quite as good. He sheepishly offered an alternative, "I was just thinking we'd get some dinner."

She glanced at him in pity. "I know how you're feeling," she confided. "It might have been a long time ago for me, but that feeling is something you never forget. But I also know what comes after that feeling. You have to be ready to face everything that comes after that feeling. What comes after, they're the most painful, the messiest, most confusing times you'll ever live through. You have to apologize endlessly. Make amends all the time. Forgive things that you never imagined you could look past. If you're honestly ready for that..." She downs the rest of her drink in a single deep swig, "I'll tear off your clothes and do you right here." She gazed at him with expectant eyes. "What do you think?"

His shoulders slouched. As badly as he wanted her now, as badly as he had wanted her since the first time they met, he couldn't bring himself to lie to her. Not on something this important. He shook his head.

"Smart boy," she remarked. She poured herself another drink. The glugging of the liquid escaping the throat of the bottle, the splashing of the liquid collecting at the bottom of the glass, for a long time, those are the only sounds that filled the oppressive silence.

He finally spoke up again. "What do you want to do then?"

She took another swallow of wine, properly gulping it this time. She didn't want to look back at him. "I'm leaving the motel," she announced. "I won't be going back to the lighthouse either," she added. "I have to ask that you don't come looking for me."

He couldn't say anything. Not that he didn't have any shortage of feelings about her proclamation. It was just that he got the creeping sensation that her decision was well past his influence at this point.

"I have to focus again on my daughter," she continued. "Everything that's happened recently has just reminded me that I'm not whole without her. I have to be whole if I'm going to start living again. Until then, I can't face what comes after that feeling. Not with you. Not with anyone."

He now felt a bit silly for having believed he alone could've moved her away from the goal she had been holding all along. He had no choice but to concede to her family. He shouldn't interfere with that.

She placed a soft palm against his cheek. "I'll try to still be there for you in the end. I hope..." She sniffled as he tried to blink away the incoming tears. "I hope we'll find each other again."

She spoke in the tone of someone who's learned to let go of expectations. But whatever little hope her life still left her with, whatever little hope she still allowed herself to keep clutched tightly to her chest, she tried to give that little crumb of hope to him.

Her clothes dry again, she slipped back into her cream-colored sundress. The torrential downpour had subsided into a calming drizzle. Before she stepped past the threshold and out the front door of his house, he would take her by her slim and delicate shoulders. He kissed her on the cheek. She took the opportunity to settle once more into his arms. She had found herself in the embrace of many arms throughout the dizzying course of her life. These were the first arms she could trust to comfort and protect her. She didn't have to be afraid that these arms would crush her, as have so many arms before him. She silently prayed for a time when she could be in these arms to stay. 

He watched her as she jogged past the raindrops, back to her blue Corvette. He watched as she shut the door behind her. He watched as she drove away, the long stretch of road leading out of these suburbs swallowing up the image of her car.

From her front porch swing, Rachel's attention was wrested away from her weathered paperback copy of The Shipping News. She saw the blue Corvette rushing along the road in front of her house. What a sweet ride, she thought to herself. What kind of person drives a car like that?


End file.
